


Doves and Ravens Fly The Same

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Confessions, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Japanese Shiro (Voltron), M/M, Not Beta Read, Pining Keith (Voltron), Post-Kerberos Mission, Pre-Canon, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Pre-Relationship, Season/Series 01, Wakes & Funerals, author portrays japanese funeral rites from only their personal experience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:23:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29767881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Shiro didn't get a funeral. Not a real one, anyways.Keith says goodbye, again and again, in any way he thinks will work. He lights the incense, again and again.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Kudos: 7





	Doves and Ravens Fly The Same

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this years ago, right after my grandma passed away. All my knowledge from Japanese funeral rites comes from personal experience and some quick googling. This portrayal is not representative of everyone's experiences or what super traditional funerals look like. 
> 
> Title from "Glory" by Dermot Kennedy

The door closed quietly behind Keith, a soft noise, loud in the absence of his roommate. It had been easy to get a night alone; Harrison had been avoiding him for at least a week now, ever since...well, ever since. He set the paper bag down on the bed, then pulled the pack of smuggled matches from the waistband of his jeans. If he got caught, he would probably be suspended, but he was long past caring what the Garrison thought of him. 

He sat on the neat bed, next the to contraband matches and the paper bag from the small store on the other side of town. He surveyed the items, cataloging the color of the match box (red with blue lettering) and the box peeking out of the paper bag (just a corner of dark green). This was something he had thought about all week, but now, in the moment of action, he felt fragile, volatile. He swallowed the iron lump in his throat and dumped the contents of the paper bag on the bed. 

The man at the small store had been kind despite Keith’s forceful yet awkward words. He had explained how to perform the ceremony, a simplified version retold in broken english, but Keith still felt unsure. This was something he knew had a high level of importance. This was something that could have consequences, sort of. The lump was back with a vengeance. Keith shook his head, running a gloved hand through his hair and steeling himself. 

He shrugged off his jacket and knelt on the floor by the nightstand. A picture of  **him** already sat on the side table, taken on promotion day. Keith had almost thrown it away two nights ago in a fight of rage, but he was glad he kept it. The first thing he did was light a few, small candles, The wicks caught easily, and a clean, almost vanilla scent permeated the air. He then set the small porcelain bowl in front of the picture, then picked up the glass bottle from the pile on the bed. He uncorked it, then filled the bowl with the gray powder. When the bowl was half-full, he stopped and recorked the bottle. He didn’t know what to do with the rest of the powder, but he would figure that out later. 

The pine green box was next, the incense making the room smell reverent. He paused again, unsure about how to proceed. But... **he** had always forgiven Keith for every mistake. He had laughed at the bumps on the head and the times when he put his foot in his mouth, and suddenly this moment was a lot more familiar. He struck a match along the side of the box, the sudden flare of light in the dim room centering the focus on the picture. With thick fingers that felt brittle, he lit the end of the incense until it began to burn, then quickly shook it out. Smoke curled like tree branches up to the ceiling, and Keith briefly wondered what would happen if he set the fire alarm off. This was beyond worth a suspension. He stuck the still smouldering incense stick into the ceramic bowl. 

Suddenly remembering, he fumbled for the short, square bell from the pile on the bed. He didn’t have anything to strike it with, so after a moment of panic, he tapped it with his fingernail. It sent a short, sharp  _ ting  _ into the smoke. Keith placed the bell next to the bowl and picture, leaning back on his heels. This was the moment when the old man had told him to send his prayers to the heavens. Keith had never been the praying type, but he was willing to believe for this moment if it meant talking to  **him** again. The old man had told him the incense and the ringing of the bell would let Keith talk directly to who had recently passed. With the incense still filling the room, he closed his eyes, and tried to picture talking to  **him** again. God, how long had it been? How long would it always be?

At first, the image was fuzzy. It was hard to envision  **him** without the lense of anger and grief that he had been carrying around for a long time now, even longer than the last week. Anger at leaving him behind, anger at the Garrison for sending him away, anger at himself for existing in a world where he never even told the man he loved  _ I love you _ . Keith clenched his fists and bowed his head. He took several, deep shuddering breaths before composing himself.

_ Dear Shiro. _

And wasn’t that the kicker, that this was only another letter, like the hundreds that had probably been sent between the two of them already. The hundreds of inside jokes and special smiles and counted stars on the roof on those infinite kind of nights, the hundreds of S _ incerely, Shiro _ at the end of all those letters. He wouldn’t be getting anymore letters.

_ Dear Shiro. _

_ God this hurts. I hope you didn’t feel pain. They said it was an explosion. I think that’s bullshit, but I also haven't fully accepted the fact that you’re not coming back. Ever. God, this hurts. This isn’t fair. I suppose you think that too. You always were fair, a good leader. A good man, a brother to me, always taking control of the tricky situations. You always had something kind to say to me, even when I screwed up. Especially when I screwed up. And you made sure I passed my classes. You sparred with me late at night. You took me up to the roof. Do you remember the night, about a year ago, when I turned sixteen and you pointed to the sky and said, “I’ll be up there, real soon. You can count on it.”? I should have slapped you, pulled you away, kissed you, god damn it, anything to distract you from holding onto that dream. You didn’t deserve to die alone on the loneliest, coldest planet out there. You didn’t deserve to die at all. But you did, you bastard. You left me alone and broke your promise of coming back. _

“You promised!” This last part was spoken out loud, echoing off the walls, and at this Keith hunched over, crying in full. The tears blurring his eyes turned the candlelight to a glow, turning the picture of Shiro golden. Caught in amber, almost. Perfect, smiling, frozen in time. _ You were perfect. God, everything you did was perfect. I love you.  _ A heavy swallow, throat closing on his tongue.  _ I loved you. I wanted everything for you. And so even when you left me, I let you go because the sky was everything to you. But I’m still lonely and angry and sad. I let you go, why am I still upset? Damn you.  _

There was a long pause, where Keith just cried, the first time since he had heard the news. When the Garrison had announced it, he had been frozen, then furious. He had made his knuckles bloody punching an unyielding wall. The rest of the cadets had avoided him, Shirogane’s special student, the prodigy. Some had claimed, still claimed, that he had gotten his rank through sexual favors to Shiro. The thought made his blood boil, that not only would someone accuse him of cheating, dismissing his talent, but also that Shiro was that kind of man. Shiro was the best kind of man, the only good one. The rest of the world was awful. No one had ever understood Keith like him, accepted his flaws and faults and cracks and passions with such smooth grace. And he was gone, blown up in a spaceship thousands of miles away from home. From Keith. 

He tilted his face up, wiping the tears and snot from his face.  _ Pilot error, my ass. You would never, Shiro, not on something this important. You wanted it so badly. I loved your passion. I loved your smile and your courage and the way you checked your watch like you had an infinite amount of patience, even though you were always busy. I loved-I loved you. So god damn much. Jesus Christ, I was going to tell you when you got back. I never got to tell you.  _ Keith straightened, making eye contact with the picture of Shiro. The incense was almost burned down to the ashes in the bowl. Time was running out.  _ I’m telling you now, Shiro, the only way I can. I love you. I always will. Thank you for what you taught me: how to love, how to enjoy the stars, how to push for what you believe in. Thank you. Goodbye. I love you.  _ The incense sticks were all but burned out, the last wisps of scent fading into the room. 

Keith wiped his eyes. He sat for what must have been at least ten more minutes in silence on the floor, wishing. Wishing for Shiro back, wishing for family, wishing for justice. That was all he allowed himself. Then he heaved himself off the floor. He put the box of incense sticks and the rest of the powder back in the paper bag, then tucked them in the very bottom of his closet. For the ashes in the bowl, he hesitated. They had no remains, no object to carry. It was like he never existed. The ashes in the bowl felt connected to Shiro somehow, and it felt wrong to throw them out. As ridiculous as he knew he was acting Keith set down the bowl and picked up what had been the final item from the bag dumped on his bed. The shopkeeper had handed him a small charm on a chain, a locket in the shape of a small vial, with a secretive smile. Keith had tried to pay for it, but the man had refused. Had he known about this moment? Keith carefully opened the locket and poured in a small amount of ashes from the bowl. After a moment of uncertainty, he takes the knife his mother had left him and carves the date on the outside of the locket. The rest, he did throw away, along with the matches in case they searched his room. Even if he got in trouble, he would never be sorry for saying goodbye. 

-

About 12 months later, one heavy night in the desert, Keith pulled out the incense sticks again. He may have been living in a shack in the middle of nowhere, but he always knew the date. He could never forget this date. He wouldn’t. He put a couple in a glass cup, the little ceramic bowl long gone somewhere in the time he had started causing trouble at the Garrison to the day he left. He lit them with a lighter he had stolen from the convenience store in town. The achingly familiar smell was almost enough to break him, but he kept his breathing easy and deep. He flicked the bell with his finger, the ringing noise breaking the silence. He wasn’t sure that Japanese funeral rights could be performed more than once, but he was improvising. Besides, Shiro had never been that religious, and Keith would give  _ anything  _ to talk to him again, traditions and rituals be damned. He listened to the bell ring out, the light noise dissipating along with the smoke from the incense. He pulls the locket from around his neck out of his shirt and contemplates its shape in his hand.

_ Dear Shiro. _

_ It’s the anniversary of your death. It feels like it’s been a million years since I’ve seen you. I’m starting to forget your laugh. Forgive me. Dear god, forgive me for forgetting anything about you. You don’t deserve that. I can’t do even this for you. I couldn’t even go after you; I got kicked out and now I’ll never be able to go to space. Space is yours, and I wasn’t able to hold on. I wasn’t able to get to you. I’m so sorry. I am so goddamn sorry oh god. Oh god. I am so sorry.  _ Tears burned the backs on his eyes, but he kept them in, locked up tight. He wanted to stay composed for this. He had cried enough already in the past months. 

_ The desert is kind of nice, even though it’s lonely sometimes. I’ve always been lonely since you left two years ago. But it’s quiet out here. I can hear my thoughts. I can hear the stars, like you said you could. They pull me, strangely, to these caves. I think maybe, it’s you? Who or what else would guide me from above? So I’ll keep exploring, for you. And I’ll keep waiting, in this desert, for something. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for, but now that it might be you guiding me, I can’t leave. Not if you’re out here, somewhere.  _ He watched the incense burn down, the shack filling with that strangely spicy-nostalgic smell.  _ I love you. Still. I never stopped. I miss you so. So badly. I miss you. Goodbye. I love you.  _

The incense was almost to the end of the stick. The night air was oppressive. Suddenly unable to stand being inside, Keith ran outside. He heaved, sucking in the cool breeze in huge gasps, trying to remember how to breathe. He took a huge breath and let out a roar. It started at the tips of his toes, all the way up to his eyebrows, a sound of pure frustration and anguish resounding off the deaf stone walls of the many twisting canyons and cliffs. It shook him from the inside out, head buzzing, eyes leaking, pitcher overflowing, he roared again. This time was a little quieter, on the heels of the first cry and with less air to support it. He listened to his anger fade out, till only the breeze and the faint chirping of insects could be heard. He waited for a response, something, anything. But nothing responded back. 

-

Then a ship crash lands, Shiro pops out of it, and his shack is suddenly full of strangers, and  _ Shiro.  _ Shiro, who is breathing and bleeding and  _ alive _ . He in Keith’s house, on Keith’s couch, drinking Keith’s water, and this has to be a dream. But in his dreams, Shiro is always exactly like before he got on the Kerberos ship, and this Shiro is very different. This Shiro has scars crisscrossing his torso, a metallic arm Jesus Christ what happened, and a shock of white hair. He’s banged up, bruised, confused, and doesn’t seem to remember much. But he’s alive, which is more than Keith had hoped for, and his eyes alight upon Keith when they scan the room for danger. Keith can hardly believe it. The first thing he wants to do is punch a wall, which he does when no one is around. The second thing he wants to is confess to Shiro his feelings, which he most certainly does not. Not now, when there are three strangers, very loud ones at that, always around. Not when he isn’t familiar with this new, hidden version of Shiro. Not when Shiro himself is a little lost, and has forgotten much. Not now. 

And soon, that becomes his motto. The blue lion makes Shiro’s white hair glow, ethereal, and Keith thinks  _ not now. _ They land on an alien planet and Shiro takes charges, like he used to, and Keith thinks  _ not now _ . They form Voltron and Keith can feel Shiro in the mix of Lance and Hunk and Pidge, and together the whole group feels  _ so right _ . But all he can focus on is the handprint on his back where Shiro gave him a friendy post-meeting pat, how his third knuckle tingles where it brushed Shiro’s hand two nights ago at dinner. And the same thing comes back at every one of these moments;  _ not now, not now, not now _ . 

He takes the locket of ashes and buries it in some dusty old cabinet in the Castle of Lions, somewhere no one will find it. He can’t bear to be reminded of when Shiro was dead to him. 

Several months go by. Keith becomes reaquainted with Shiro, relearning his habits and the sound of his voice. He savors every touch. But things are different now. Their actions have consequences, possibly catastrophic ones. They’re a team now, and Keith isn't lonely anymore. They can’t afford any distractions, anything that might challenge their ability to think clearly in battle. They’re soldiers now. Shiro is their leader, and Keith is his right hand man. Anything more is impossible, dangerous. Keith feels like he’s walking on eggshells even as he opens up to Pidge, Hunk, and even Lance. His walls are coming down, and he wonders if after they’re gone if he can hold his tongue. But oh, it hurts some days to see the man he loves, breathing and only a few feet away, and be unable to kiss the smile off his lips, unable to run a hand up his back, unable to unlock, unwind. He must keep it hidden. He has to. 

Inevitably, some part comes out of him, a slip-up, a mistake. They’re sparring, as has become common between them. Shiro is swift and deadly, and Keith’s attacks are more direct, broad defense and pointed blade. Shiro shifts his weight and lunges, and Keith falls for the fake-out, shifting his weight as well. Shiro takes him down, pinning his arms above his head and a metal hand, unactivated, by his throat. Keith is gasping for air, and he can feel Shiro’s upper body pressing against his own. He tries, he really does, but something must show on his face. Some sort of expression, the tip of an iceberg, he’s not sure what, but something about the situation changes abruptly. Suddenly, this feels intimate, precarious. Keith is aware of how  _ alive _ they both are, how they could die any day out in space. In that split second, all of this runs through his head. And then Shiro rolls off of him. The moment is shattered, but the air still feels different than before. Shiro studies him for just a second too long, then smiles and gets to his feet. He offers a hand to Keith, who takes it, and it feels nothing but brotherly. 

“Wanna go again? You’re getting better. But it is almost dinner time.” Shiro gives him an out, an escape, but Keith has to convince him everything is fine. Everything is normal. He shakes his head, smirking. 

“I’m good for another round if you are, old man.” Shiro’s smile grows wider at the insult, and Keith feels bird’s wings beating furiously inside his chest. 

Keith notices that after that incident, which he had thought he covered up fairly well, that Shiro is watching him, in a different way than he watches the rest of the team. He always makes sure Lance keeps his shield high, makes sure Pidge doesn’t forget to eat, makes sure Hunk doesn’t get too anxious in tense situations. But he looks at Keith likes he’s waiting, like he’s expecting something more. Keith throws himself into training, earning bruises and rebukes for his efforts, but the glances don’t go away. Until a few weeks later, one late night after a day of chasing Galra ships across several miles only to lose them, Keith crumbles. But it’s not exactly his fault. He is walking back to his room when he bumps into Shiro in the hallway. The older man is cradling something in the palm of his hands, looking a little lost. His eyes meet Keith’s and Keith steels himself. He has to be what the team needs. Shiro holds out his cupped hands. 

“Hey, maybe you can solve this mystery. I was looking for some old Altean books on strategy when I found this necklace, with Earth digits carved into the side. It doesn’t belong to Hunk, I’ve already asked him, so do you know-” Keith is burning up from the inside out. He is melting and cracking at the same time. He snatches the locket from Shiro’s hands, hair hiding his eyes. He can’t bear to look at Shiro. The necklace had looked so wrong in Shiro’s hands. It was too much of a symbol of raw pain, longing, for Keith. He needs an explanation, but his brain isn’t working, he’s drawing a blank-

“It’s mine.” The moment sags between the two of them. 

“Oh.” Shiro says, looking confused and cautious and something Keith can’t identify. Shiro makes as if to continue down the hall, but Keith sparks. He just can’t hold it in. 

“The date, it’s um. It’s the day they told me you had died. They day you were captured.” Shiro has understanding dawn upon his face, like water poured over his head. He opens his mouth, 

“Keith, I know there’s a lot I don’t remember-”

“I’m in love with you.” It’s off his shoulders. He’s flying. He’s being sucked upwards into a blackhole. Oh god. Oh god what has he done? “I did then, and I never told you. And. And I still do now. The locket has ashes from the incense I lit when I thought you were dead. They, helped, in a strange way. A piece of you.” Shiro is looking at him with wide eyes, unreadable expression. Keith can’t be here. He turns swiftly around and almost takes a step but there’s a hand on his shoulder. He is stopped, and then Shiro is in front of him again. He looks, broken open, his face awash in relief. 

“Keith. It’s okay. I didn’t know for sure, the Galra put so many false memories in my head, I couldn’t tell what was from before, but I know now. Keith, I loved you back on Earth.” Keith looks at him with glowing eyes, scared and barely hopeful.

“And now?” His tone is almost defiant.

“And I love you now. More than ever. God, I-” Keith cuts him off, throwing his arms around the taller man, a momentary gap before they’re kissing, finally, finally,  _ finally. _ It’s everything Keith wants and everything he didn’t know he wanted. Shiro is holding him tight, Keith’s hands are in his hair, and it’s perfect. Keith is so, so in love, it’s spilling out of him, bleeding out of him. Shiro is so bright in his arms, the stars all burn out trying to keep up.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading


End file.
